


My Conversation

by great-pan-is-dead (TheCrimsonDream)



Series: When I Have Nothing, I Have Years Before Rest [1]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Madness, POV First Person, Vampire Chronicles, our conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrimsonDream/pseuds/great-pan-is-dead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our Conversation had ended, and in the years of spanning alone and mad, words still found me that were to be found by no one.</p><p>Late TVL era</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Lestat POV, time spent in 1920s before going underground.

Sometime among my later years before sleep, the years that blurred at the edges and slipped in and out of dreams, an issue of the _National Amateur_ featuring _“The Music of Erich Zann”_ found its way into my lap, and although the date said 1922, it might as well have been years my eyes spent stumbling over the words. And when I set it down, I cannot remember if I laughed or wept. A weak hysteria broke out in the ghastly reminder of the possessed violin cries that were never to leave my ears. How frightful I found it to, even then, wonder that I might have found it soothing just to hear once more. It was a dissonance to join the rambled harmonies of a piano across the street; of all that had been and never had become.

I think I talked to you, then. I think I talked to the echo of him, talked to the wandering Armand, talked to whoever I thought would listen in that hollow room. No goodbyes from you, I said, no goodbyes from him, no goodbye from the golden girl, nor the world. Halcyon twining fingers and giving in to a never ending list of no goodbyes, that’s what it had been. No apologies, I said, were allowed to be heard; non given, words I couldn’t bear to break the air with even after years; so much time, so much distance, so much death. I have read so many stories, now, I said; I know all that he found comfort in. I know so much, yet nothing at all. It is worthless, when concocted in madness and illusions in a bitter cold; cold of the room, cold of the world, cold of my blood. Cold of my heart, did you ever know such a chill that now weighs on me. Or did I bring it upon you? I asked to find a reply in myself. Will I slip away and be in this state forever, or do I bury so many words in earth.

And whose Conversation was it then? It was mine. My Conversation, and it would not be taken from me, even when I tried feverishly to cast it away in my delirium. To grow silent again, become at peace with the dark and with the empty. The cracked whispers of a deranged thing, oh what had I become; shadows chasing shadows.

 

* * *

 

Referenced-

[The Music of Erich Zann, short story by H.P Lovecraft](http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/mez.aspx)

**Author's Note:**

> Mentioned- The Music of Erich Zann by H.P Lovecraft, short story can be read here- http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/mez.aspx


End file.
